Flesh
by Americana Psychotica
Summary: *SEQUEL TO DEPRAVIA* Two years after the infamous Depravia case, Harry is looking forward to settling down with Draco and relaxing - but reality is notoriously uncooperative. A new mystery, relationship troubles, in-laws - what's a Chosen One to do?
1. Life is a Stage

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, unless J.K. Rowling moved to the U.S., became a teenager, and is a narcissist (FANfiction, people!). Given that this is not our reality, I do not own it.**

**Genre: ...No idea. Let's say, Humor/Drama/Mystery/Romance. **

**Rating: M, for swearing, violence, and lewd jokes.**

**Full Summary: Two years after the Depravia case, Harry is looking forward to relaxing and settling into a real ****relationship**** with Draco - but reality is notoriously uncooperative, and when his eldest godson Gaius stumbles on an odd ritual, he is soon dragged into what may or may not be a conspiracy, and to top it all off, the world thinks he's the person to come to when experiencing relationship troubles. What's a Chosen One to do?**

**A/N-**

SQUEEE! I'm baa~aack! Here it is, the sequel to Depravia, Flesh! (Which I keep misspelling as Felsh. XD) I'm pretty sure this is the last of the 'series', but hey, if the Depraviate world calls to me again, it'll show up again. -shrugs-

If you haven't read Depravia, I will be making references to the events therein, but they aren't necessary to this plot. If you'd like to understand who all of the characters are, read Depravia. I don't believe it'll be necessary though, but it IS conveniant, since currently, it's in the SAME STORY. .. So. READ ON! -claps excitedly-

Edit: FFNET IS WORKING AGAIN! So, y'all will have to actually read Depravia if you want background.

Edit 5.6.12: Hey again. This first chapter is unchanged, but the rest of the fic following will be different, beginning with a lack of the one and only Felix. OCs remain, of course, but besides that...

* * *

_Flesh is malleable. It is the outermost expression of humanity, and humanity is a twisted thing._

Rain streamed down the windows, falling quietly, soaking into the ground and making the world seem greener than usual, but the sound, quiet though it was, was eerie in those quiet halls, the scarce rumbles of thunder echoing hollowly, unconsciously heralding the arrival of the rowdy group, their laughter and conversations floating through the empty stone halls, bringing light and life in the midst of the storm. The group of ten split into three – seven towards the Headmistress's office, one off into another hall entirely, leaving the final two to trail after him.

"I hope Minnie doesn't mind." The lithe blonde snorted, wrapping his arms around the taller brunette's waist.

"Harry, she knows as well as we do how shaken the kids were after the Nis debacle – she won't mind." Shadows flitted through the brunette's green eyes, before fading, and he nodded with a sigh.

"You're right." The blonde preened.

"I usually am." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Draco..." Grey eyes sparkled with mischief and he sighed again, shaking his head at his boyfriend's antics.

"We should go make sure Gerard hasn't gotten lost."

"Do you honestly think he _can_?"

* * *

Draco's comment proved to be correct; the blind man had found his way to the History of Magic classroom without mishap, and was currently deep in discussion with Binns. The ghost was unnaturally enthused as far as the two former students were concerned, but Gerard seemed to care not at all; he was just as engrossed in the conversation as Binns was. Satisfied that their original duty was done, the two left the history obsessed pair to their conversation, heading back towards Minerva's office.

Here, the Weasleys were sprawled out in their usual, unconscious formation; Gaius sat beside his mother, Ron sat on her other side with Gorman, Joan sat between her parents, and the twins sat on the other side of the room, reading. Minerva was discussing the new school year with Gaius and his parents – specifically, Hermione's choice to join the faculty and Gaius's plans for the future.

"It will be something of a relief to have someone close at hand who is better able to tame Gorman." The fourth year didn't look up from his own book – a gift from the Del Toros, a guide to adapting ancient spells to modern life. The boy had discovered, a little less than two years earlier, that he had a knack for such things – much to his mother's chagrin. She often meditated with some annoyance on the fact that Gorman had proven to be just as much a genius when it came to innovating with magic as his uncle, George.

"He _has _mellowed some, Minerva." Harry slumped into an empty chair, accepting Gorman's flashed smile with a nod. He tended to be the one who stuck up for the Hufflepuff when he, say, transfigured half of the Great Hall into a jungle complete with ravenous animals of questionable origin. _That_ particular argument should have won him a law degree. Draco settled himself in Harry's lap, ignoring his yelp and subsequent objection.

* * *

Minerva watched the pair situate themselves, smiling a little. She remembered a conversation with Severus and Albus about the pair, sometime during fourth year; she'd been complaining about their seemingly endless rivalry, and Albus, eyes twinkling more furiously than ever before, had assured her that it would only get better as the years passed. Severus had been no more convinced than she, but had admitted a certainty that given time, the two could overcome their difficulties eventually. She was glad Severus hadn't chosen to visit and Albus was asleep – she could just imagine the smug smirks she'd be subjected to.

"Mm – I will concede to your point, Harry. You _have _learned to control your play in these last two years, Gorman." The fourteen year old merely nodded, still not looking up, one hand digging in the bag beside him for a quill and parchment. She shook her head and returned her attention to Gaius.

"What do you intend to do after this year, Gaius? You never did seem to have a goal in mind – your grades are consistent across the board, save for in Herbology, but those have improved with tutoring from your uncle." Gaius nodded, blushing a little. He had been one of the worst students in his year in Herbology, and he sometimes wondered how he hadn't killed himself with some poisonous plant he mistook for a harmless lookalike.

"I – I admittedly am not sure what I will do after graduation. Aunt Troy has offered to sponsor me to study abroad in America if I cannot come to a conclusion. I was hoping this year would bring some clarity to the issue for me." Minerva nodded, face stoic.

"Well. I suppose there is no harm in that – I am sure you will come to some conclusion by the end of the year, be it to continue to study abroad or choose some occupation here." Harry started when his wand squawked and sighed, gently signaling Draco to get up so he could find out what Mallory wanted.

"Use the Floo in my classroom, Harry."

"Thanks, Minnie."

* * *

Mallory watched as Harry materialized from the Floo, sliding a few inches out of the fireplace and tripping over his own feet, managing to stay upright by grabbing the edge of his desk.

"Good morning, Potter." He shook his head at the other Auror's mumbled reply and tapped his hand with a file.

"I'm sending you to America – Tanner is requesting back up, albeit reluctantly. Lorcan's being treated for exposure to dragon's bane, and she's lost Jones." Harry looked up, staring at him.

"How does someone _lose _Creed? And why are they in America anyway?"

"Director Hawke asked me to send two Aurors who could work compatibly with Magus Del Toro. You were on leave and I couldn't think of someone else who works compatibly with _you_, so I sent Jones and Tanner. Hawke didn't give me the details, but I gather this has to do with drug traffickers of some sort. However, this calls for reinforcements – you remember what happened last time Jones didn't follow protocols." Harry nodded, mouth set in a grim line.

"When do I leave?"

"Immediately – Del Toro will meet you at the Magus headquarters. Contact me once you've rendezvoused with Tanner."

"Understood."

* * *

Draco started at the owl pecking at Minerva's window. Gaius rose and opened the window, bringing the owl in gingerly.

"Ah – it's a Ministry owl." Draco rose as well, untying the missive and unfolding it.

"Oh – Harry's...going to America."

"Why?"

* * *

Harry winced a little as he landed, dropping the Portkey and trying to get his bearings, but failing miserably and soon stumbling into a wall when a black blur slammed into him, squealing.

"Harry!"

"Hi...Troy..." The Magus pulled back, beaming. She hadn't changed in the two years since they'd first met; since then, they'd only seen each other occasionally, mostly corresponding via letters and the rare Floo call. She'd let her hair stay long; it was braided to keep it out of her eyes, but stray curls still found a way out, unfurling haphazardly from the twisted confines of the braid. She was in uniform for once; the brass buttons glinted a little bit when she stepped back, smile fading some.

"How are you?"

"I was fine until I found out something happened to Creed."

"Yeah, Valeria's worrying herself to exhaustion – Lorcan's okay, but he's in a drug induced coma until his system can eject the last of the dragon's bane. Without him, it'll be next to impossible to find Creed, if she didn't leave us some sign as to what happened to her." Harry exhaled loudly.

"Great." Troy shrugged, leading him out.

"This way – you need to check in with the director; Valeria will be with her."

* * *

The director of the Magus Corps was a small woman of elvish descent – breaking five feet even, she was possessed of delicate features and bone structure, a fact soon offset by her large gold eyes that mirrored her surname. Short blonde hair was styled into a crest that ran into a small braid at the base of her neck, ending with three ties – one blood red, one navy blue, and one black bisected by white. Her right eye was surrounded by an elaborate tattoo in the same colours, mimicking a stylistic hawk's eye. She sat on her desk, flipping through reports, long nails painted blood red tapping insistently.

"Auror Potter. Sit." He did as he was told, eyes darting to Troy, who smiled a little and shook her head. He noted Valeria, who sat in the corner, eyes riveted on a map on the wall to her left, before returning his attention to the woman in front of him."

"...You will be staying in the Magus barracks. Auror Tanner will be in the same wing as you. Magus Del Toro can show you where. Auror Jones disappeared one night ago. Del Toro, brief him as you go to the warehouse. Dismissed." Troy nodded and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up and dragging him after her, Valeria following them silently. The moment the door closed she let out a noisy breath.

"_Gods. _I'm _still _not used to her, the psychotic mini elf."

"Um-"

"Director Crighton retired last year – she was his first choice for the job, so she's got it for the year to see if she's any good. She's _scary_." Harry pulled his wrist from her hand.

"I noticed. Is she always so short with people?" Troy giggled at his unintended pun, then sobered.

"Yeah – woman will not warm up to anyone. Well, she was okay with the old director and Creed, but I think it was Creed's shock factor – I _know _she doesn't like Valeria because she has a grudge against vampires." He looked over his shoulder at Valeria, who nodded.

"She was very open about it – of course, she didn't tell me why, but Mallory did; her family was attacked by vampires, and her fiance and little sister were turned. She never saw them again, but she knows that her sister's been killed." Harry grimaced and nodded sadly.

"We won't have to deal too much with her, and this isn't anything like Nis, right?" Troy nodded a slow affirmative.

"No...but it could be worse in Creed's case." Valeria nodded as well, eyes narrowed.

"The traffickers were smuggling humans – or so we thought, but it turns out they're all shifters of some sort or other, natural, cursed, you name it, they're there. Creed wouldn't disappear without leaving some sign, a note, anything, and she wouldn't leave without Lorcan for backup. If they have her, they'll probably use her in that disgusting circus of theirs." Harry furrowed his brow.

"Circus?"

"Aye – it's a little like Nis's Depravia, only...a circus. Clowns and everything." Troy twitched a little at the word 'clowns', much to Harry's grim amusement. Valeria smirked, a little less unnerved by her partner's absence in light of a chance to torture some mere mortal with an exploitable fear.

"Is it that you suffer from coulrophobia?" Troy glared at her.

"Clowns are freaky – I don't have an irrational diagnosed fear of them, they just weird me out."

"I notice you said diagnosed – you admit it's a possibility that you actually do suffer from this ailment, but you don't know-"

"Just shut up Val." The vampire feigned hurt and flung her arms around Harry's shoulders, the force causing him to stumble a little.

"_Harry_, she's being _mean _to me!" He looked over his shoulder to stare at the grinning half vampire and shrugged her off.

"Don't – don't do that. It's...scary." Valeria humphed and flicked her ponytail back over her shoulder and strode forward, smirking.

"Come on – Creed'll be pissed if we leave her to rot, and I'd hate to see the carnage if Lorcan can't find her when he wakes up."

* * *

They arrived in the abandoned warehouse a few minutes later after Harry executed a hurried Floo call with Mallory. Valeria took the lead, superior senses leading them to where they'd last seen Creed.

"She never returned to the barracks; I thought she'd maybe gone to the stables to sleep in Lorcan's assigned stall, but none of the handlers or the Healers saw her. We didn't get a ransom note from the traffickers, but that doesn't mean anything. Creed's one of the most powerful werecats you'll ever see – because of how her sire was engineered, all of his line will get weaker with each passing moon, except Creed – she's basically his firstborn, and his heir. They wouldn't want to give her up."

"Do we know who any of these people are?"

"We have a hunch as to who their ringleader is – one Sebastian Carmichael. He used to be one of the Carmichael Brothers – you remember, the magical circus phenomenon." Harry nodded an affirmative. The Carmichaels had begun a successful business venture as entertainers, half brothers known as twins because they were born on the same day to different mothers. Their star seemed destined to continue to rise, until a fatal freak accident involving a stray match and a pair of newly turned werewolves took Brian Carmichael's life on the eve of their biggest show. Sebastian had been devastated and dropped off the grid, never heard from again – that is, until now, apparently.

"Okay – you both last saw her here, when you intervened during a delivery and caught at least ten of the smugglers. Did Creed say anything, do anything out of the ordinary?"

"She threatened to smother one of them with a balloon if he pulled any of that 'mad clown shit' on her."

"..." Valeria shrugged while Troy tried to cover her guffaws with strangled coughs.

"You asked." Harry shook his head.

"Beyond her homicidal reaction to the clowns, anything else occur to you?"

"She seemed a little tired, but we've been operating on almost no sleep – I'm not surprised she was tried." Troy suddenly sobered completely.

"She was also really quiet – remember Val? We went out to get dinner, and she barely said more than two words." Valeria paused, eyes narrowing.

"You're right – I thought she was just tired, but when she's tired she tends to work herself up, not wind down..." Harry sighed.

"Nothing else?" Both women shook their heads and he looked around.

"Okay. Let's bring a couple dogs in here and start laying tracking spells – if someone did take Creed, they might come back here. Have the Magi lay a perimeter and separate it into quadrants; two pairs patrol each quadrant each hour. I need to look at Creed's notes." Valeria bit her lip, nodding slowly, mulling over his words.

"Yeah – I'll get those for you; Troy and I will start the patrols."

* * *

Harry yawned and pushed the too neat notes with their tiny hand writing, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes a little, squinting in the lamplight. He hadn't found anything of note – just piles of intensely detailed, too clinical, ridiculously, scrupulously organized _notes_, on everything from suspects (persons of interest, as Creed put it) to the crime scenes and their miniscule stains and scratches. She had an entire page on a _spoon _they found! Disturbed and exhausted, he leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.

The case was remarkably clean cut – or perhaps it simply lacked the bizarre quality of the cases he'd been assigned lately. Mallory had been pressured by the upper echelons of the Ministry and their society friends to produce another glorious piece of Auror work as the Nis Scarta case. Harry, knowing that unless someone unearthed some psychotic ancient demon, dismissed it as normal society idiocy and was quite content to settle back into his paper pushing ways, but Mallory had no such intentions, and with every hint of possible lurking catastrophe, he sent Harry to deal with it. Dealing with human/were trafficking was refreshingly normal – but now there was a missing Auror to contend with. A missing, soon to be quadrupedal Auror with a temper that was apt to explode with the slightest provocation.

_Damn it. _ He started when he heard a tap at the window, which repeated and repeated again, becoming more insistent with each passing tap. Confused, he looked out into the darkness. No owl, but _something _was out there-

"Harry, is something tapping at your window?" He started, his attention snapping from the window to his cracked door, where Troy and Valeria stood.

"Yeah – but there's no owl." The three eyed the dark window, where the tapping was continuing, growing almost frantic, when a thought struck Troy.

"Oh _crap._" Before either Auror could question it, she flung open the window and let the dark blur shoot into the room, rolling head over tail and landing on its chest, wings half unfurled, tail flopped over its head.

"Lorcan?" The dragon righted himself, made an odd croaking noise, and fluttered into the air, barely reaching Harry's shoulder before his wings gave out and he crumpled onto his shoulder, whining a little. Valeria pulled him into her arms, hugging him close.

"Are you okay, Ani?" For once she didn't sing it at him – perhaps she felt it wasn't right in the current scenario. The dragon whimpered and butted his head against her jaw, small fangs flashing when he yowled softly, tail lashing back and forth as he searched the room for Creed.

"Ani, lovely one, she's not here." He wailed, rising onto his hind legs, hissing a little as his red eyes swept over the room, nose twitching a little, the small horn at the tip bobbing with his frantic sniffs. With a squeak, he squirmed free of Valeria and fell to the ground with a hollow sounding thump, tail still lashing, making a beeline for the door, almost flat against the ground.

"Lorcan! Where-"

"Maybe he smells Creed?"

"Of course he does, she had the room next to mine!" Harry shook his head.

"No, Val, look – he's leaving the building entirely." The three of them left the room, watching the dark blur glide across the floor and out of the hall.

"We...should follow him."

"I agree."

* * *

Draco woke with a start, instead of his usual, slow awakenings. He sat up, leaning on his arms as he stared out the window. The storm that had been brewing earlier that day was out in full force now – barely two minutes passed without a blast of thunder or flash of lightning. It was odd that he hadn't slept through it – he was a heavy sleeper, and rain, even accompanied by thunder and lightning, tended to make him all the sleepier.

"Meh." He rose and padded from the bedroom he shared with Harry to the kitchen, summoning Kreacher with a muffled snap. The house elf appeared with an entirely too clear crack and stared at him expectantly.

"Tell Elliot I'm coming over."

"Kreacher understands, Master Draco." He disappeared with another disconcerting crack, and Draco found one of the many stashes of peanuts Harry had scattered around the kitchen before returning to their room, nibbling on the legumes while wondering if he should have maybe seen if Elliot would mind his coming over or not.

* * *

The Lord Grayson was in a similarly awake state, despite it being a few minutes past two in the morning. A ridiculously early edition of the Prophet – published for early risers and night owls – lay in front of him, beside the bottle of fire whiskey and a haphazard pile of letters, all in the same jagged scrawl.

_'I'm sorry for not writing much last year – with the change in directors, I had to play the society game, and I didn't realize how rusty I've gotten, and I got a new cat. He's pushy as hell. Apparently his name's Hyperion. Ironic, huh? I picked him up from a friend who couldn't take care of him anymore._

_So what's up? Because it's not like this isn't intensely awkward. I miss you – I talk to you less than I talk to Harry and Draco. Dad said you were doing fine when he visited, but I want to see you for myself – even though it makes me feel clingy and awkward. Is everything okay with you? I read a couple of your articles about the Pillar of Heaven research you and Uncle did, but I couldn't focus on it – it wasn't over written and flirty. Hyperion seems to find that amusing, if his hacking is anything to go on. It's not even hairball hacking – he's just hacking; sounds like he's laughing, anyway._

_Ah, jeez, look what you've done – I'm rambling because I MISS YOU. Thanks for nothing, Grayson. Maybe I'll visit soon – or _you _could visit, I mean, you have a ton of money, USE IT. _

_Gah. Just write back._

_Troy.'_

He snorted. It was the last letter he'd received, over a month ago, but he'd never gotten around to writing back because of – something. He'd come up with a thousand reasons not to write back, and now he wondered if it wasn't just a mental ploy, because he'd overestimated his feelings from two years ago-

"Brooding is unhealthy, especially when it's you and you're brooding over Troy." He looked up, eyeing the newly arrived blonde with something akin to malice but not quite there, mostly frustration. He thought about the note he'd composed but never sent her and sighed. His frustration had certainly bled into that – near the end, it had been outwardly aggressive and accusative; he'd reread it and stuffed it in a corner in a drawer in his study's desk, but it still burned like a raw wound scraped with a pumice stone or salt.

"Elliot?"

"What, Draco?" The blonde collapsed into a chair across from him, accepting a steaming cup of tea from Elliot's butler – the only one of his staff who was awake at such an ungodly hour – before nodding out the window.

"The sun hasn't even risen, but we're both awake, and I have a feeling you aren't feeling any better than I am."

"You're uncomfortable because Harry's gone." The blonde tilted his head to the side, grey eyes glinting with the lightning flashing outside.

"Are you sure?" Elliot gritted his teeth and turned away, intending on returning to the letters or the Prophet, when his butler, Samson, suddenly returned, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"A letter for you, my lord – just arrived." Elliot accepted the missive from the older man and dismissed him with a nod, staring at the slightly damp envelope.

"Who would make an owl fly in this weather?" He didn't answer Draco's question, eyes riveted on the slanting curls of the name penned across the front.

'_Elliot Damicus Grayson'_. No one knew his middle name – except his parents, of whom one was dead, and unless he had taken a page from Voldemort's book, he wouldn't be sending owls, especially not in this weather. He smothered a snort at that and quietly opened the letter, feeling his short lived humour wither against a flood of apprehension. Draco moved to sit next to him, reading over his shoulder.

_'My son,_

_This is, perhaps, not the more opportune time to be sending this – if there even is such a time. I am simply unable to overcome my displeasure with your behaviour, but as age presses down on me as it does us all, I am faced with a dilemma – I am without grandchildren, and the considerable Grayson fortune is at stake. I will be frank; I would rather leave this money to the loathsome government than to you. I have not forgiven you, and I do not believe I can. I was under the impression, from conversations – sadly rumour ridden – among friends a few years ago, that you had found a lady friend. An American, but a pureblood and otherwise worthy mother of my grandchildren – yet I find you still single and buried in papers and research._

_Do not be foolish, Damicus. I will not hesitate to intervene. I demand you produce an heir to this fortune before the end of next year. Should this condition not be met, I will destroy you – you will be poorer than some sewer rat scraping by on trash and scraps. I am giving you a week to produce, first, a woman of stature – if not this lady Del Toro, then someone else equally suitable. After this week passes, I will begin to bring women to you myself. Expect me tomorrow at high noon._

_With barest civility,_

_Lady Agatha Grayson-McNamara.'_

The letter slipped from numb fingers, and Draco carefully moved the fire whiskey and papers away from the stunned man, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

"Elliot – Elliot!" The brunette started when he snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, eyebrow raised, expression puzzled.

"What-"

"My mother is coming here." The horror in his face was almost humorous, if it weren't for the fact that Draco knew he was completely serious.

"I'm dead."

* * *

A/N: HaHA! :D Good follow up? Fail? You'll never read my stuff again? (That would hurt. :( ) Review so that I might know. -beams- Ciao!

Edit 5.6.12: If you're one of those people who skips the first A/N (I get it, some of us *cough* like me *cough* are rather wordy), I repeat; this first chapter is identical to its original incarnation, but the rest of the story following will be different, lacking in the OC Felix Riddle. It's not a loss if you don't know who that is, I assure you. XD Also, I know this says rated M and currently it's rated T, but that's because I don't think any of this is M rated as of yet. Someone tell me if I should ramp up the rating later.


	2. Enter The Queen O' Misery

**A/N-**

Is it obvious I like psychos? Because I do. XD

* * *

Mallory started when his Floo flared without warning and a small form shot out of it.

"Lor-" The dragon yowled and bit the twine on his front paw off, batting the scroll towards him and darting back to the fireplace, looking at him expectantly. He blinked and looked down at the unfurled scroll.

_'We've found Creed, but she's not in the best shape and she's pretty pissed. We're in the middle of a fight, and Harry and Val are in the middle of exacting revenge right now. Just thought you'd like an update, and the stolen files herein._

_P.S. Just toss in the powder and send him to Hark and Twine's._

He pulled the shrunken files from the crumbled, singed missive and rose to send Lorcan back to America.

_I'm not sure I want to know._

* * *

Harry stepped around another fallen clown and joined the furious half vampire. Seated in a strange throne – a sort of jaunty mockery made for circus royalty – was the infamous Sebastian Carmichael, fingers curled lazily around a blood red leather leash attached to the heavy iron collar around Creed's neck. Harry's eyes didn't leave the hissing werecat despite knowing Sebastian, a twisted man who'd obviously been in the circus business far too long, probably had no few tricks up his sleeves – and they were impressive sleeves. He wore a long open robe in blood red brocade with enormous gold trimmed sleeves that fell back to reveal small, thin hands with spindly fingers and long nails painted a bright red with small gold spirals on them. A black top hat rested on a coat rack beside the 'throne', and a coiled whip rested in the man's other hand.

Creed too had been dressed to match the opulent ringmaster – as well as one can dress a werecat. Twin gold hoops adorned her flattened ears, and a bull ring rested in her nose, as opposed to her usual nose stud. Every other claw had a small, heavy ring on it, and bangles adorned each ankle. Even her tail had blood red ribbons with bells tied around it. The heavy, spiked iron collar was also embedded with rubies. She snarled, jerking against the leash a little, dark brown fur rising with her ire. Sebastian shushed her gently, one emaciated hand curling into the fur around the scruff of her neck, a little above the collar.

"Shh, my pet – the show isn't over yet, and you mustn't forget your place." Green gold eyes flashed and she yowled, twisting to snap at his hand despite knowing she couldn't reach it. Valeria swore in Latin, and Harry gritted his teeth, eyes moving to the sunken, dark orbs of Carmichael.

"She was always my favorite. When I heard she had become an Auror, my amusement knew no bounds, but the idea that my possession had escaped me – the very possession that cost my brother his life, no less! – was preposterous, inconceivable!" Harry cut him off, frustration making him impatient to just kill the man and leave. Creed was in an unnaturally accelerated state of emaciation, and he didn't know what was causing it.

"Look – I get it. You're mad – you have to be to run a circus. Your brother died – we understand that as well – but _Creed didn't do anything_." The apparently deranged man threw his head back and laughed – a sound that welled deep in his stomach and was expelled with such great force that his body seemed to spasm with the sound. Creed whined, ears completely flat against her skull, pupils blown.

"_My _Cristina? She has everything, _everything _to do with his death! Had she not toyed with his heart, toyed with his gentle affections, he would not have been so foolish as to take in two newly turned werewolves and to place them in the animal tent without proper precautions on a full moon, nor would he have decided to smoke to calm frayed nerves for the first time in years!" Spittle flew from thin lips and a blood vessel throbbed over his left eyes as he yanked on the leash, pressing the collar dangerously around Creed's throat. Harry had just about had enough of the man when Lorcan's shrill roar tore the relative quiet and almost five different spells hit the man at once. He went down with a muffled thump, becoming tangled in his voluminous robes despite being paralyzed. Valeria immediately tore the collar off Creed and stepped back as her muscles and bones shifted and realigned themselves to her human form. Magi poured into the tent, surrounding the stunned ringmaster while others dealt with stunned – and a few dead – clowns and circus performers scattered throughout the maze of illusions, boxes, and false walls. Harry retreated to the entrance, Lorcan on his shoulders.

"Auror Potter – a word." He stopped and waited for the petite Director, one hand absently reaching up to stroke Lorcan's snout.

"...Thank you. Your partners will be back in England by tonight, after our people have made sure everything's in order." She paused, eyes glinting a little.

"I received a rather...odd letter last night – a request from a Lord Malfoy to give Del Toro leave, on the grounds that she may very well be receiving a life changing proposal from someone close to her." The small woman folded her arms, eyes locked with his.

"Why, exactly, should I consent to this?" He blinked, feeling what little adrenaline he'd been nursing drain away and missing it sorely.

"Troy's – had a trying year. Maybe a break would do her good..." He wanted very much to look away from the large, gold eyes boring into his skull, but there was a lag in response between his brain and his body, and so his reactions were slow.

"Look – Director – I'm tired, I'm sore, and I'm probably in shock from the overload of clowns. I just want to go home and sleep." The seemingly frozen glower melted into a soft smile, and Harry realised that had he been at top performance level, he'd probably have twitched.

"You aren't easily intimidated, are you, Auror Potter?" She chuckled, folding her arms.

"It's too bad you're gay." He gaped as she walked off, feeling like his lagging brain had missed something incredibly important in those last few seconds – a never ending "Uhhh..." moment.

* * *

Draco paced. He didn't usually pace, he didn't like pacing, but he paced nevertheless. It had taken Harry less than two days to deal with whatever was happening in America, and apparently he was tying up loose ends. Mallory had called via the Floo mere minutes ago; after this, he was giving Harry vacation leave ("With pay, and forced, if need be. He's never been good at following orders anyway."), and he, along with Creed, Valeria, Lorcan, and Troy, would be returning soon – if all went well.

The crack of Kreacher's arrival barely blipped on his mental radar, but his following words did.

"Master Draco, the Lord Grayson is here to see the Master Draco. Shall I show him to the parlor, master?" The blonde arched an eyebrow, sighed, and then nodded, striding out of the bedroom.

"Yes, Kreacher, I'll see him in the parlor. Thank you." The house elf bowed and popped away, while Draco moved to the parlor and dropped into the nearest chair, yawning. Kreacher bustled Elliot in and disappeared with Draco's assurance that they didn't need anything.

"So-"

"My mother is staying in the country, Draco. I can't even turn around in my own house without her breathing down my neck. Please tell me you have good news." The blonde smothered a smirk as the other man collapsed into the seat opposite to him, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

"Harry's coming home with the others, Troy included, in a few days. Mallory says he can send us ahead to see him in America – why don't you come along? No mother to harass you, you can see Troy..." Elliot scowled at him. Draco allowed his smirk to show.

"Draco..." He raised an eyebrow. Elliot sighed.

"It's been two years. What if...we just..." He trailed off under the neat daggers flying from Draco's eyes.

"Elliot Grayson, now is not the time to succumb to cowardice. Troy misses you – you miss Troy. You both honestly need to stop finding excuses to avoid a real relationship. Jesus, I thought I had commitment issues." He glared a few moments more, then stood up.

"You're coming with us. End of story." Elliot rose stiffly, frowning.

"Us?"

* * *

Harry watched Valeria throw another chair, eyes following the wooden structure's journey into the wall where it splintered, followed by several pieces of china he was sure the Director wouldn't miss.

"He's just going to _walk_? He almost killed my partner, and _did _kill several werecats, the bastard is a gods damned criminal! Who the hell authorized this?" He leaned back, resting his chin on his fist as magic lashed out from the livid woman.

"The Chancellor. We can't do anything about it."

"You-"

"I'm not using my notoriety to get this to go my way. Best case scenario, it'll only work once and after that I'll be fucked when I need it most." The half vampire groaned and muttered something under her breath about uptight men who over-thought everything, before stalking to the door.

"Let's check on Creed."

The werecat had entered a coma soon after being forced again from her feline form back to the human one. Several of the Healers from the Ministry back home were worried she'd never wake up – the odds weren't good, and as opposed to Harry, Creed didn't have ridiculously good luck on her side. Harry sat outside the hospital room, fingers tapping a staccato beat on the arm of the uncomfortable chair. The seat cushion was lopsided, with more stuffing in the right side than the left and several popped stitches. He'd been leery about sitting in it, but he was too tired to stand, and the nurses had threatened him on numerous occasions, making him wonder if Madame Pomfrey had during one of his many school year mishaps inserted a chip into him to track him for her secret society of homicidal nurses. He really wouldn't put it past her.

"Auror Potter?" He looked up, eyes finding a short orderly holding a glowing disk.

"A call for you." Confused, he accepted the metal disk and realised it was a mirror – a timed scry call, developed some time ago in Sweden.

"Potter?"

"Mallory?"

"I heard about Creed – is she going to be okay?" He paused, eying the wavering image uncertainly.

"They're not sure, sir." Mallory sighed, shaking his head.

"We can only hope, then. I called to inform you that you will be receiving company shortly."

"Company? Who-"

"Harry!" He dropped the glass and missed it fogging over as the orderly caught it with ninja worthy skill, being too preoccupied with the blonde clinging to him and cutting off his circulation.

"Draco-"

"Why didn't you call about Creed? What happened to her? Mallory just said she was in the hospital, he wouldn't even say why!" The oral onslaught continued, ignoring Harry's abortive questions about the small army gathered behind him, consisting, he thought, of the Weasleys and Elliot, though he thought he might have seen Gerard. Malachai had arrived earlier, and was talking quietly with Joan and Gorman while the other Weasleys spoke to Valeria and Troy and probably laughed at Harry as he tried to extricate himself from Draco's grasp.

"Draco! I didn't call because I was dealing with bureaucratic arseholes all day yesterday and all morning today, while trying to prevent Valeria from killing someone. Creed is in a coma, and they're doing all they can for her. I can't tell you anything more right now because the case isn't even considered closed yet." Draco huffed, silver eyes narrowed.

"...Like that's ever stopped you before." He was cut off from asking another question when a small gaggle of nurses and doctors suddenly surged into Creed's room as alarms went off, a small globe of light hanging over the door turning bright red and flaring like an angry sun. Draco and Ron restrained Valeria while Joan cradled a terrified Lorcan. Troy materialized at Harry's side, eyes darting between the room and the silent Lord Grayson, occasionally allowing a questioning glance at Harry. He shrugged helplessly, listening to the muffled, panicked voices from Creed's room, before the orderly who'd given him the mirror finally offered to lead them to a more private waiting area. Now they sat in relative quiet, and Harry allowed himself to focus on the increasing tension between Elliot and Troy.

* * *

Malachai had, with barely a hint of subtlety, carefully manipulated them into this position beside one another; the Weasleys had taken over the couch and surrounding chairs on the far side of the room, Harry was with Draco on the loveseat, and Valeria was pacing furiously by the door, cutting off any chance at escape. Gerard was working on something in the corner of the room, and Harry was awed by his apparent disregard for whatever was building between his niece and research partner. Draco elbowed him; he started and raised an eyebrow in confusion. The blonde mimed talking, then nodded to the Weasleys and then Valeria; he wanted them to bring attention away from the pair shifting their weight from one foot to the other and occasionally coughing uneasily.

* * *

Troy was glad Harry took Draco's unspoken cue; Valeria's anger, combined with their cumulative concern for Creed, was only making this more difficult.

Elliot hadn't changed from when she'd last seen him; maybe a few more frown lines had formed around his mouth, and maybe there was the rare silver hair now and then, but beyond that, he looked exactly as she remembered him – just, you know, concerned and uncomfortable. Gone was the cocky, laughing man she'd first met, and strangely, she found this side just as endearing.

_Damn. _"It's been a while," she offered, wincing internally at the lame conversation starter. Immediately the fog over his features lifted, and he snorted, smirk materializing too easily.

"What, no stutter? No tears? And here I thought you'd missed me." She almost gaped at him, then smacked his arm, an answering grin forming on her face.

"I'm not the one who hasn't answered my last letter in a month." The smirk faltered; she raised an eyebrow, and it disappeared completely, replaced with a scowl.

"Cute, Del Toro." She shrugged, sliding an arm around his waist and squeezing, grin widening some.

"So, why haven't you written me back? That busy?"

"The idea of your cat is disenchanting," he drawled, and lazily sidestepped the smack to his arm.

"Bull shit." He let his eyes trace her lips, smirking widely.

"Coming from you..." She smacked his arm again.

"Shut up." They were both grinning now, though their eyes asked serious questions; Are you okay? Is everything well? Do you still love me? They shied away from those weighty inquiries, settling for teasing and renewed flirting, but still the clouds hung in their gazes. Malachai's soft throat clearing brought their attention to the door, where the orderly lingered, small, hesitant smile on his face.

"I have good news...and some bad news."

* * *

Hermione and Ron eventually herded their children back to England, taking Troy with them; she was moving back in with Harry and Draco for a while, while Gerard and Malachai moved in with Lucius and Narcissa. Elliot had begged off leaving immediately, citing some obscure business he wanted to look into; Harry and Draco both remained, preoccupied with the miraculous recovery of a certain werecat and the relief of her partners.

"Don't _do _that to me, Creed! How many times do I have to tell you, no dying?" The werecat sighed and stared at the ceiling while Valeria ranted, occasionally getting a chirp or growl from Lorcan as well. Harry sat against the wall, smiling a little with every new note (all much to Creed's chagrin), fiddling with Draco's braid. The blonde leaned against his shoulder, humming a little and every now and then throwing more fuel onto Valeria's accusative fire (usually by listing Creed's fashion offenses). Irrelevant though most of the rant was, it was a sign to Creed that the people around her truly cared about her welfare. Eventually the doctors threw them out; Valeria and Lorcan returned to the Magus Corps barracks, and Harry and Draco hired a Portkey home. Instead of immediately returning to Grimmauld, Harry set off to report back to Mallory.

Creed's ability to transform with the full moon was gone. Her magic had been stunted sharply with the run-in with Sebastian Carmichael, but she now could change at will, doubling her physical stamina and power and allowing her some limited telepathy and telekinesis. The doctors weren't sure if her forced change would return, or if her magical ability would be recovered with time; Creed and Valeria didn't particularly care, more preoccupied with the release of Carmichael and what it could mean for Creed in the future.

And then there was Creed's patchwork past; like Valeria, not much was known about her, but with her record in both wars, she was employed regardless, just as Valeria was. Now, her loyalties and legal standing was in question – who was Creed Jones, and what did Carmichael's obsession mean for her? So far, she was suspended, by the Minister's insistence. Valeria was still on duty, but she refused to work with anyone other than Creed, meaning she was given low level cases to address, if any at all.

"Director Hawke sends her regards, and thanks. The upper crust of society isn't thrilled with Creed, though, and the Minister seems to think it's his job to play to their whims." Mallory scowled; for all his pureblood standing, he was still the son of two middle class purebloods and didn't particularly like the society games that were so important to the Minister of late. He only really cared about doing his job, with the best there was to offer; losing Creed, Valeria, and Harry all in one go was a bit much for him to stomach. Sighing, he waved the Auror off.

"Dismissed, Potter; you're on leave until I see fit to reinstate you, and you _will _be taking all your vacation time. I don't want Malfoy in here bitching that you've been sneaking off to work when you're supposed to be spending time with him. Get Del Toro settled and make her and Elliot stop dancing around each other, understood?" Harry chuckled.

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Get out, Potter."'

* * *

Elliot wasn't pleased to be back in England. The sky was the colour of pitch and the air, hot and heavy, seemed to resemble it in consistency. Malachai's steward had given him some material to study, but no amount of scholarly excitement could overshadow the ominous figure standing in his foyer, eyeing the décor with a jaundiced eye. Sighing, he set the thin tablets aside and wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, wondering how angry she was that he'd essentially been avoiding her since her arrival a few days prior – hell, he hadn't even greeted her then. _Dammit..._

"Mother."

"Where, pray tell, have you been? I am not pleased to have been greeted by the help when I was very specific as to when I would arrive, Damicus." He flinched. _Please gods, kill me now. _

The Lady Grayson-McNamara was a woman of iron and venom, if one was to look to the gossip rags for information. If you asked her son, you'd receive some mumbled complaint about harpies. If you had been able to speak to her husband in the few years before he died, you would have been lectured on her every glorious trait, while his son scowled and rolled his eyes in the background.

Lady Agatha didn't give a damn about what others thought of her, though, so asking really wasn't going to give you much on her in the long run.

"Roderick would be ashamed of you." He felt his muscles trying to fuse with his bones; his brain was throwing warning signals back and forth, trying to still his tongue before he said something he'd regret.

"When he wasn't making doe eyes at you and being a general idiot before he let himself get killed, I'm sure he would have been." The slap was far from unexpected, and the sting barely registered. He could only imagine how angry she looked, but he was more concerned with his pale butler.

"Samson, I'm going to be absent for the next few days. See to Lady Agatha's needs in the meantime, and forward my mail to Grimmauld Place." The man bowed, and Elliot promptly Apparated to Malfoy Manor, wanting nothing more than to strangle someone, or possible drown himself in fine wine.

"Elliot?" He felt some tension ease from his muscle's at Malachai's bemused tone.

"Hello, Malachai. I apologise for startling you." He folded his arms across his chest and sighed, suddenly exhausted. The Italian wizard crossed the short distance to him, concern seaming his face. The weak smile he allowed didn't seem to convince him.

"Are you well, Elliot? You seem pale," he murmured, cupping the younger man's face and gazing down at him.

"I'm fine, Malachai, really – I just-" he faltered, thought of a lie, then discarded it.

"...My mother has decided it's time for me to marry," he said finally, mouth twisting into a wry scowl. One steely eyebrow rose, and it was all Elliot could do not to laugh at the impassive man's surprise.

"We...have not gotten along. In fact, we've been estranged for many years, since my father's death. Even before that, really." With a sigh, he eased back and scuffed his boot across the courtyard's flagstones, jaw tight.

"I have never lived up to her expectations, and she likely thinks I am a poor example on her beloved husband. I've never been one for doing as told, and for all my accomplishments, there are three things I've done horribly wrong, so far as she is concerned. Now she is facing her mortality, and wishes me to produce an heir." He paused, then snorted.

"Apparently rumours of my relationship with Troy reached her set two years ago, and she expected me to marry and be done with it. No, I haven't told Troy," he said, reading the older Del Toro's expression correctly.

"I don't even know where I stand with Troy right now, I don't even want to fathom what telling her about my mother's expectations might do." He fell silent, and continued to examine the flagstones with increasing intensity as the absence of sound strengthened, when Malachai finally spoke.

"I think you would be good for Rhiannon, and I believe your love for her is stronger than you know." Elliot looked up in surprise, not expecting the soft affection in the man's whispery tones.

"I think," he continued, "that you would do well to try to mend this rift between you and your mother. And Elliot? Even if you do not, I would be proud to call you my son, married or not to Rhiannon." He gaped after the tall man as he strode away, mind spinning. A curse from his mother, a blessing from the father of the woman he loved – he couldn't even begin to think of what to make of it.

* * *

A/N: Heeeey. Look at that. Some of the original chapter salvaged.

No, that's not the last you'll see of Sebastian Carmichael, likely. He's too creepy to say no to! XD Will I ever elaborate on Creed's past? Who freaking knows. But we do know that Elliot's got a screwed up mother/son relationship, and Lady Agatha (as I will likely be referring to her) clearly is a pissed little old lady. But hey! PESUDO FATHER/SON BONDING! WOOT WOOT!

Soon, my dear friends, the summer will end, but not before the real mystery begins, and crap starts unfolding. Next chapter, Gaius pulls a Harry, and we meet a new OC...

R&R, por favor. Roc out. ;)


	3. Mysteries Not Meant To Be Revealed

The heavy clouds finally rolled away, a grey curtain from the stage, to let the sun shine down as bright and cheery as ever, in a final wave to summer. Hermione shooed her children to the Floo, ignoring Ron's whine about how tedious this was. He'd been the one who'd wanted so many children!

Diagon Alley of the post-Reconstruction years was just as bustling as it had once been, just a little newer, a little shinier, than when she'd first seen it.

"There's Harry and Draco," Ron pointed out, gesturing to where the two were fending off a group of squealing fourth years. Harry looked like he was seriously considering hexing the lot of them; Draco just looked amused. Joan tugged on her father's sleeve and nodded to her godfather, expression questioning. Offering her an encouraging smile, he gently propelled her forward.

"Go on. All of you. Save Harry from his adoring fans." The twins laughed in unison; Gorman snorted and wove through the crowd for the nearest book store, godfather forgotten. Gaius took it upon himself to escort Joan through the crushing masses, slightly irritated by the heat and bustle, when a familiar voice sounded over the squealing fangirls.

"Alright, move it, neophytes! Gaius, get your arse over here! Potter looks like he's considering murder!" Joan giggled; Gaius rolled his eyes and made his way through the sudden path to where the statuesque strawberry blonde stood, hands on hips, bubblegum pink mouth twisted into an amused smirk. Harry had his head in his hands; Draco was laughing.

"Hi Aphrodite." The other seventh year hopped down from where she'd stood above the two men, twirling a curl around on finger.

"Hiya, Joan, sweetie," she greeted the second year, falling into a crouch and bopping her gently on the nose. The girl scrunched her nose in response and giggled some more, scrambling past her to climb up onto Draco's lap. Harry finally lifted his head, looking tired.

"Where did you find her, Gaius? What Gryffindor calls younger years neophytes?" Gaius shrugged, smiling.

"She does, Uncle. Where's your cousin, Aphrodite?"

"Picking up my books," she replied airily, flopping down beside Harry.

"Where's your heart breaker brother?" Gaius snorted and shook his head. Joan pointed to the nearby book shop; Gorman could be seen in the window, precariously balancing more books than were probably strictly necessary, while Hermione paid for them beside him.

"Typical. Come on!" She shot to her feet and grabbed Gaius's hand, leading him away from the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Draco with a wave. Gaius stumbled after her, sighing.

"Where are we going _now_?"

"Knockturn Alley." Gaius yanked her to a halt, ignoring the squawk of objection.

"What? No. No. There's no way we're going down there – everything we need is _here_, anyway!" The witch pouted; Gaius ignored her.

"Gaius, come on, it's perfectly safe!"

"If you're a werewolf, vampire, or generally Dark-oriented being intent upon discreet misdeeds." She groaned.

"Gaius, have I ever insisted we do something unsafe?" He eyed her warily.

"...No..."

"And have I ever knowingly insisted we go somewhere dangerous, when there are safer, likely more legal alternatives to be had?"

"Ah..."

"No!" she cried, flinging her hands up and almost hitting him with the sparkly bag she'd been clutching. "You're being ridiculous, so we are going to Knockturn Alley and you're going to do it with a smile, dammit!" He flinched.

Aphrodite probably should have been named Hera.

* * *

Knockturn Alley had actually shed much of its stigma after the war – likely because it was where people kept finding Harry Potter, in bizarre little shops most people hadn't even known existed. Certainly it was still the place to go for a variety of discreet activities of the barely legal and entirely illegal sort, but it was now at least accessible and safe for anyone above the age of sixteen. Most still avoided it – but Aphrodite was not _most_, and she insisted that Gaius needed to widen his sugary-sweet, too innocent to be alive horizons. He greatly disagreed.

She'd dragged him into a small shop Harry had introduced them to a few years ago when he'd been running errands and they'd asked to come with. The walls were lined with masks and a thousand bizarre trinkets even they, born and raised in the Wizarding World, could barely begin to fathom. Now and then they'd catch sight of one of the thousands of tiny birds roosting in the ceiling; a chance sound might send them up in a hurricane of brilliant coloured feathers. Shadows clung to most of the building; it was difficult to find anything if one did not already know what they sought – a shop not meant for the casual window shopper.

"Sister Moriarty? Are you here?" A trio of parrots echoed Aphrodite's call in harmony, over and over until Gaius was seriously considering murdering one just for a moment of peace and quiet.

"My children; how are you? No Mr. Potter, hmm?" Gaius turned from the parrots as Aphrodite twirled past him, smiling brightly.

"Sister Moriarty!" The slim woman returned the smile blandly, the faint light making her close cut white hair gleam. Aphrodite gestured to a pendant hanging above the door; twisted wire curled around a burnt wooden ball. Feathers trapped in the net of wire peeked out haphazardly, little flashes of colour here and there.

"New?" The ancient witch eyed it and nodded.

"Mm. Yes. I received it from a patron. A charm from her original village in the South American rainforest, so she told me. What do you seek?" Aphrodite turned the woman's attention to a opaque blue bottle, and Gaius took the chance to slip from the shop, padding deeper into the alley.

* * *

His skin was prickling; the hair on his arms and the back of his neck was standing on end, and that weird headache that came about whenever something fundamentally wrong was happening began to throb above his right eye. Stumbling some, he sped up his pace, not sure where he was going or if he should even be going there but unable to stop. Something caught his ear – a soft sniffle, a sob. He rounded the corner and almost froze in surprise, his momentum causing him to stumble forward.

He had no idea where he was – one of the back lanes of Knockturn Alley, clearly, hidden behind overlapping façades of shops and easily overlooked if one was simply waking by.

Dark red cloth draped around the alley, forming a sort of awning overhead; a rough hewn circle of wood, etched with sloppy symbols, sat in the centre of it, within which a small girl sat, clutching a burnt rag to her chest. Casting a glance around the alley, Gaius inched forward, calling softly, "Hey!" The girl's head whipped around, massive hazel eyes burning into his. Swallowing, he continued forward until they were separated only by a lopsided circle of unlit candles.

"Hey," he repeated weakly in a whisper, "are you alright?" A riot of chocolate brown corkscrew curls fanned across her face when she shook her head frantically, eyes darting around them.

"I want to go home," she whimpered. Gaius almost flinched at the watery gaze he was under.

"Okay, okay. I'm going to get you out of here. I need you to be quiet and patient, okay?" A frantic nod; he pulled out his wand and began to search for whatever was holding the child there, murmuring softly all the while, "What's your name?"

"D-Darcy. Darcy Lucille McKinney." She said it with all the pride of a child who had just memorised it. Gaius allowed a tiny smile, hoping it was reassuring.

"Darcy's a nice name." The little girl smiled weakly.

"My auntie named me Darcy after her mommy, and Lucille after my mommy. What's your name?" She seemed to be calming down, he was relieved to see; big eyes never leaving him, but her clenched grip on the rag had lessened some, and she was sitting up straighter.

"Gaius – after a famous Roman jurist. My mother named me," he offered, doubting the child even knew what a jurist was, let alone a Roman one. She bobbed her head in an enthusiastic nod; he smothered a laugh. The weird binding spell was unravelling more quickly than he would have expected; for someone putting so much attention to what was probably going to be a ritual, the spell was incredibly weak.

"Okay, Darcy, I need you to hold very, very still – I need to get rid of that," he said, nodding to the rag. Now her eyes got big and teary again, and she clutched the rag tightly to her chest, lower lip trembling. Startled by her reaction, Gaius pulled back a little.

"Darcy?"

"M-my mommy made this," she whimpered, twisting the cloth in her small hands. Understanding dawned on Gaius, and a wave of nausea washed over him. It was a blanket, presumably made for the girl when she was a baby; whoever had bound her here was using a weak blood bond to keep her there.

"Darcy – Darcy, listen to me," he whispered quickly, feeling odd urgency sweep through him.

"That's why you can't leave – whoever put you here is using that to hold you in the circle."

"M-my auntie said I should listen to them, b-but I d-don't want to, Gaius," she began to mumble, clutching the blanket closer.

"B-but it's all I have left of Mommy...G-Gaius, do I h-have to?" His heart twisted. Reviewing what he'd gathered from the spell, he saw no other option.

"I'm sorry, Darcy, but I bet when we get you out we can find out if your aunt has something of your mother's for you." The urgent feeling was getting stronger; he knew that they had to go, and soon, if they wanted to get out before whoever had bound her got back. The child seemed to question his words, twisting the cloth again and again, before nodding slowly and dropping it, pushing it away from her and sitting as still as she could. Exhaling softly, he quickly incinerated it, carefully keeping the flames away from the child; something popped, and the tiniest spark could be seen in the air around the circle. Immediately, Darcy scrambled forward, Gaius catching her quickly even as the line of white robed people strode around the corner.

"Hey!" He was relatively certain his spine fused with alarm; hefting Darcy onto his hip as he'd done a million times before with Joan, he stepped back, wand out. Merlin, but the girl was tiny.

"Look – we were just leaving," he said, offering a small, charming smile. He couldn't see any of their faces; they all seemed to have some sort of veil on under the hoods. Darcy curled her fingers into his robe, burying her face in his shoulder. One of the people side and stepped forward.

"I'm afraid you cannot," they said, their voice neutral and toneless. Gaius couldn't even tell if they were a he or a she. "We need that girl, and you, sir, have interrupted a very delicate ritual." They tilted their head to one side.

"Perhaps you, too, can be of use to us." He panicked; tossing disarming and paralysing spells in quick succession, he darted past them and ran back through the alley, trying to remember where Sister Moriarty's shop was-

"Gaius! Where did you – what's going on – Gaius, duck!" He whirled; Aphrodite's stunner flew past his ear and hit the white-garbed person in the stomach, sending them toppling to the ground. Seven more surged forward around their fallen comrade, wands levelled on the two teens and the small child.

"What the _hell_ did you do, Gaius?" Aphrodite hissed, wand never leaving the seven slowly approaching. No one was around – Gaius hadn't even known this kind of silence was possible in Knockturn Alley.

"Not now, Aphrodite-"

"Gentlemen, ladies. Whatever are you doing?" Sister Moriarty's voice was strangely jovial; he was relatively certain he'd never heard that tone in her voice before. The seven froze, wands dipping. One hissed, "The girl is ours, _Sister_. The boy interfered, and we require our charge be returned to us." Darcy whimpered. Moriarty didn't flinch.

"Is that so? Gaius, Aphrodite, go back inside. Your godfather was just looking for you." Relief coursed through him; if Harry was here, this could all be dealt with properly.

"Go on," she murmured, smile fixed on her wane face. Slowly, they backed into the shop, the door whispering closed behind them. Darcy didn't loosen her vice grip on him, but Aphrodite was apparently mostly unfazed by the child clinging to him.

"Who were they? And who is this?" She stared at the little girl, who clung harder to him. Gaius scowled at the witch, who shrugged.

"I don't know who they were, but they were holding her hostage. I freed her, they found us, we ran. There's nothing else to tell!" he snapped when she raised an eyebrow incredulously.

"Well, Mr. Weasley, it would appear you have made some very dangerous enemies." They both turned; Sister Moriarty was gently pulling the charm Aphrodite had pointed out from above the door, turning it in her hands. Sighing, she turned to face them.

"I hope you are prepared to explain this to your godfather. Here he comes now," she murmured, nodding out the window.

* * *

Indeed, Harry was coming down the steps into the alley, heading toward them. Gaius moved to set Darcy down, but she began to whimper. Flinching, he readjusted his grip on her and set her on his hip, moving to meet his godfather outside the shop. Aphrodite shadowed him silently.

"Gaius, Aphrodite – who is this?" He stopped, looking between his blushing godson and his scowling friend.

"Gaius...?" Swallowing, Gaius raked the hand not supporting Darcy through his hair.

"Not here...Preferably not in public at all." He looked over his shoulder at Sister Moriarty, confusion finally catching up to him.

"Where did they-"

"They realised, as did I, that a confrontation was not in our best interests. I cannot tell you anything more, but I did find this." She held out a heavy brass ring; Gaius accepted it from her, fingers curling around it tightly.

"I bid you farewell. You had best be careful, my children." Harry stared after her, then returned his attention to his godson.

"What is it?" Again Gaius shook his head, and the brunette sighed.

"Fine. Come with me, all of you." He turned and strode from the Alley, teens and their tag-a-long close behind. As they met up with the rest of the Weasleys, Harry asked for a proper introduction to the cringing child.

"This is Darcy Lucille McKinney," Gaius finally relented, smiling a little when the girl, not pulling her head away from his chest, waved shyly. Joan eyed her questioningly, then looked to her brother, who only shrugged. Harry led them all back to Grimmauld after Draco and Hermione both cleared Gaius and the girl for Apparation. There, amidst all the chaos that came with so many people asking what amounted to the same set of questions, Gaius explained what had occurred in the alley.

At some point Troy coaxed Darcy from him; now she sat between the American and her saviour, fingers curled around one of Gaius's hands.

"They were using blood magic, Harry – that doesn't bode well for the legality of their actions," commented Troy, braiding Darcy's hair. The Auror nodded, mouth set in the expression she remembered from when they'd been investigating during the Nis Scarta case.

"It was a really minor spell," Gaius piped up, still slightly on edge, expecting a scolding from his godfather, mother, or both. Again Harry nodded.

"Minor or not, blood magic on a child, a child who is presumably not their kin, is suspicious, even if, as Darcy said, her aunt insisted she go with them. I'm going to need you to go over everything you remember seeing, piece by piece." He flicked a glance to the silent girl.

"Ms. McKinney will stay with you until we can find her aunt; we won't question her until she's certain she's ready. You'll tell Gaius if you have anything to tell us, won't you, Ms. McKinney?" A small nod; Gaius was fairly certain she recognised Harry, if only in a remote sense, and she certainly recognised his authoritative tone. Troy finished braiding the girl's hair and tied it with a gold ribbon.

"Well. If that's all, we should get right on that. Darcy will be fine with you; clearly she's developed a bond with Gaius. I'll start by speaking with Minerva – Darcy here seems to be eleven or thereabouts." She looked down at her. The girl met her eyes and managed, "I got my letter from Hogwarts this summer." Smiling, the woman nodded.

"See? So. I'll speak with Minerva. Harry will look into Ministry records, and Draco will snoop as only he can, what with his businesses. You all go home – we'll Floo you later if we find anything." Hermione agreed, and that was that, so far as the two women were concerned. The children were herded through the Floo, Darcy clutching Gaius's hand all the while; Aphrodite bid them farewell and Apparated back to Diagon Alley from the back of the house. Troy, Draco, and Harry convened in the kitchen to go over everything again.

"So, she says her aunt's name is Sarah, no last name. Her mother's name was Rebecca; presumably she's dead, given what little we could get out of her. From the quality of her clothing and the crispness of her speech, I'd say her family is probably upper middle class," Draco began, ticking off point after point.

"She doesn't know her father's name, but he supposedly is on a business trip. I don't know if that's just what her aunt told her to cover that he's gone from the picture or if he really is on a trip." Troy hummed, chewing her bottom lip.

"She said her aunt named her; that sort of implies that this woman's been in her life since she was born, or at least very young. Maybe the father was out of the picture before that?" Now she frowned.

"That doesn't explain why her aunt gave her to these white robes, or why she says the father's on a business trip. If he was gone from the beginning, why both trying to explain him away?" Harry shook his head.

"Whatever the reason, I don't think this is an isolated event – which concerns me. Between me and Draco, we can keep tabs on most operations in Knockturn Alley. This has to be a new occurrence for us not to have heard about it, but their level of organization suggests otherwise. Possibly they relocated – came too close to being discovered and pulled up stakes, figured they'd be luckier elsewhere."

"But Knockturn Alley? Even with its reputation, isn't that an awfully risky area to choose?" He ceded to Draco's point with a sigh, replying, "It is. Again, with their level of organization and the blood magic, this could very well be some sort of large scale operation." Raking a hand through his hair, he summoned Kreacher and sent him to tell Mallory he was coming in.

"Meet back here in an hour, then?" The others nodded; with that, he Apparated ou

* * *

Mallory eyed the Auror, mouth twisting into a dark scowl.

"Blood magic, on a child? Minor or not, that's an offense that could be punishable by death if the child isn't kin to you – even if they are, depending on the spell used." Harry nodded.

"We don't know much; I've written down everything Gaius told me-"

"And you will be giving me that information and returning to your vacation, Potter. I'll give the case to Tanner and Jones." Blinking and stopping mid-rant, he set the parchment down in front of Mallory, confused.

"I thought Creed was suspended."

"She is. This is strictly off the books, because we don't have a case yet – technically. If anything else turns up, you go to them, off the clock. As for Ms. McKinney, I'll look into that personally. Until I find her aunt, she'll be in your custody." Harry objected now.

"Mallory, Grimmauld isn't a place for a child!"

"School year's about to start, Potter – she can stay with the Weasleys until then, but you'll be her legal guardian until I say otherwise. I'll get you the paperwork before tomorrow morning. Dismissed, Potter." Scowling, Harry sketched a lazy salute and left the office, returning to Grimmauld to find Draco returned, but no Troy.

"Troy still with Minerva?" Draco looked up from the ledger in his hand, pushing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

"Ah – I think-" he looked at the clock, "no, Minerva would have sent her back by now. Maybe she's in Knockturn Alley." He shrugged.

"She could have decided to visit her father." Harry slid onto the couch beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Speaking of fathers..." Draco groaned.

"Potter-" Smirking, the Gryffindor dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"You're certain Lucius approves of us?"

"_Yes, _you daft, dense, pitiful excuse for a troll's sister! It wouldn't matter even if he _didn't. _It's my life, not his." He shoved the laughing brunette away, fighting a smile.

"Now go and make me dinner." He started at the puff of warm air across his ear, and then the sensation of his boyfriend's teeth gazing his earlobe.

"_Harry_..."

"Are you sure you want dinner?" He could hear the grin in the other man's voice, and dropped the ledger, turning and pulling him into a kiss.

"Mm – yes. Now shoo." The other man's laugh echoed through the house.

* * *

A/N: Why does this feel so long? It's shorter than both of the other chapters! . Well, part one of the mystery, as well as the new OC, little miss Darcy. And a little fluff, for good measure. -snorts-

I probably had something meaningful to say about this chapter, but I can't remember what that might have been...Expect to see Hogwarts soon, and for part two of the mystery to be revealed.

Ciao, bellas. Roc out.


	4. Saturate Fade

Troy twisted her ponytail around her fist, eyes tracing the formidable image above her absently.

She remembered this portrait from the first time she'd been in Elliot's home – he'd identified the subject as his father, a grim man whose supposed sombre stateliness was offset by the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Now the man seemed concerned, shooting glances down the hall he presided over. Sighing, she addressed him, "Well, Mr. Grayson – er, Lord Grayson – I don't suppose you know where your son is?" He eyed her warily.

"Who is inquiring, might I ask?" She stifled a small smile at the thick Scottish brogue; it was so unlike Elliot, and yet she couldn't help but think they were probably more alike than not.

"My name is Troy Del Toro. I'm..." She trailed off. What was she to Elliot?

"A friend," she finished, hoping he hadn't noticed her hesitation. He was smirking. She somehow doubted he'd missed it.

"Ah. My son's beloved American – the very woman my wife has been throwing a tantrum over for the last day or so." He sighed, humour fading.

"I am afraid my son has not made himself known to me for some time now – since his mother arrived. I believe his manservant mentioned the Malfoy family, but I am uncertain. I am old, after all – my hearing isn't what it once was." She arched an eyebrow and drawled, "I'm sure it isn't your hearing that's going, sir." That startled a laugh from him, and the sound captured the attention of the few in the house.

* * *

Samson tried not to flinch when Lady Agatha's imperious gaze slid to the door of the sitting room, where a woman's laugh drifted in from the hall, mingling with that of her late husband. She rose and strode purposefully from the room, the butler all but scuttling after her. He could see where his master got his innate determination – it had been bred from struggling against a woman who would not be moved, not by her son, not by her husband, not by any man.

That determination had aided in his wooing of the American Magus, but now the seed of it would come face to face with the woman she clearly hoped would be the mother of her grandchildren – given that she was acceptable.

"Ah, Samson, Agatha. Lady Del Toro, have you had the opportunity to meet my darling widow, Lady Agatha Grayson-McNamara?" Samson stifled a smile when Troy twirled to face them, hands on hips, lips tipped up into a small smile.

* * *

Lady Agatha was not impressed. This Troy Del Toro did not strike her as being the daughter of a powerful Wizarding family. Clad not in the robes of tradition, but in a scandalously short dress of a boxy cut, knee high boots, and an open wool coat lined with silk, she looked very much like a Muggle – nothing to hint at her magical power or her blood status. Humming lowly, she stepped forward, expecting the woman to offer her hand, as was so customary now. But instead, she found herself receiving the usual traditional greeting between two woman of high birth; clasped hands, air kisses to both cheeks, the general Latin greeting. Pleasantly surprised, she finished the ritual without pomp, finally turning her attention to her husband's portrait.

"Must you continue referring to me as your widow, Roderick? It is unseemly."

"It is also accurate," he quipped in reply, receiving only a stately raised brow and a small shake of the head. Troy ducked her head to hide her smile, pushing a loose curl behind one ear.

"I apologise if I am intruding – I was hoping to find Elliot." Now the iron mask clamped over the grey-green gaze of Lady Agatha; something had flickered in her face for a moment, a mere breath, but enough so that it caught the Magus's attention.

Yes, Elliot had mentioned that his mother was in town, though he hadn't explained why; she had gotten the impression they were still very much estranged. It occurred to her she should probably tread carefully, but then again...

Hindsight is 20/20.

"Damicus has made it abundantly clear to me that he will not be returning to this house until such a time that I remove myself from the premises," Lady Agatha announced, jaw tight. Troy furrowed her brow and shook her head.

"What – that's, um..." She blinked and filed this under moments she could have lived without.

"I'm sorry?" And that response under most inane things she's ever said during her lifetime. The Lady Agatha seemed unfazed by her flustered reply, instead turning from them and eyeing the hall critically. Samson looked pleadingly at Troy, who simply shrugged, as if to say, _What am I supposed to do? _

"Ms. Del Toro-"

"Magus, my lady," she mumbled, instantly contrite when she was skewered by that iron glare. Continuing as if she had not spoken, Lady Agatha drawled, "I was and am still under the impression you are rather close to my son. What have you to say to that?" Scuffing a foot against the granite floor, Troy uneasily shoved the curl behind her ear again.

"Elliot and I were...involved in a vague sense, two years ago, but we entered a relationship during a period of turmoil for everyone-"

"Yes, yes, the head hunter case. I do not want a political response to whether or not you are or are not involved with my son. I simply wish to know what sort of woman has captured his fancy after so many years." The American witch frowned, resisting the urge to bite her lip. It struck her as unusually callous of Elliot, just leaving his mother here without any word to anyone, giving her nothing to do but wander the halls aimlessly every day she remained. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Lady Agatha...if you are not resistant to the idea, I'd like to invite you to luncheon." Grasping at her old manners wasn't as difficult as she would have thought.

"I too am a guest here, but I have no doubt my host would be perfectly amiable to the idea of opening his home to you." She twirled the curl around her finger now, lips pursed.

"Perhaps it would be better to discuss this in something of a neutral territory. I can't speak for Elliot, but I would be honoured to have your company for an afternoon." Again she received the stately arched eyebrow, but now she saw the smallest, utterly tiny smile she'd ever seen grace the woman's hard features.

"Very well, Magus Del Toro," Lady Agatha replied softly, inclining her head.

"I will share a luncheon with you in a venue of your choice, tomorrow afternoon." The younger witch allowed a nervous smile.

"I'll have Samson escort you there." Oh, she prayed Elliot would forgive her meddling.

* * *

"You're back late," Draco called when he heard the rush of the Floo and Troy's tell-tale acerbic greeting to Phineas' portrait. The Magus flitted in, tossing her coat onto the leaning coatrack that rattled forward to catch it and then rattled back into the corner by the door, beside the dented tin holding the umbrellas.

"Busy with Elliot?" She groaned aloud at that, and the blonde wizard twisted to look at her, surprised by the response. She had kicked off her boots and curled her feet under her, head tossed back against the back of the couch, curls cascading over the side, freed of their lazy ponytail.

"Troy?" She glared at him balefully between her fingers, asking, "Did you know his mother's in town? At his manor?" Draco blinked.

"Yes...but what – oh. You went to see him and he wasn't there." She smiled bitterly, the expression almost a grimace.

"Yes, Draco, exactly. And now, because I can't keep my mouth shut, we're going to lunch with her, you, Harry, and I, tomorrow at Blaise's. Expect awkward conversation while she drops innocuous verbal bombs, while I try not to drown myself in drink before my duty as hostess is done, while you and Harry make eyes at each other and hope she doesn't notice." Her voice, growing rapidly higher and sharper with every passing word, finally penetrated the noise of the kitchen and brought Harry out to investigate, eyebrows knitted in consternation.

"Hey, you're back – what's wrong?" She stared at him, and rasped, "I'm going to bed. Draco can explain." With that, she stood and stomped up the stairs, leaving him to stare after her in confusion while Draco groaned and closed his book, shoving it aside. Blinking some, Harry turned to his boyfriend, one eyebrow raised.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, casting his glance up the stairs and then back to the blonde. The ex-Slytherin scowled.

"Apparently she met Elliot's mother while trying to find Elliot himself, and now we've been wrangled into lunch with the woman tomorrow afternoon." Harry's expression didn't waver; Draco clarified, "This is the same woman who expects her to marry Elliot, something Elliot hasn't told her, and the two of them have barely glanced at each other since we came home. Elliot's been brooding and scowling and being a general arse, and she's not making any effort at all to really talk to him, and _now _she's gone and locked herself into some impossible situation with his mother without telling him." Harry's expression drifted from understanding to horror. Draco smiled grimly.

"Exactly." Dropping onto the couch, Harry leaned forward and buried his face in Draco's hair, ignoring his squawk of protest.

"Should we tell Elliot?" he mumbled, nuzzling him a little. Easing away, Draco caught his chin and pressed a kiss to his nose.

"I don't know. This isn't really something we should interfere in, but Troy's already tangled us in it without our say, so..." Harry sighed.

"So...lunch tomorrow at Blaise's?"

"Yes – and before you say anything, I _am _dressing you."

* * *

Gaius munched on a carrot, watching his grandmother instruct Darcy and Joan on the proper way to handle gnomes, while the twins ran around the garden doing just that. Like every year before, they were spending their last week at the Burrow, their father's childhood home, as opposed to in Godric's Hollow. Aphrodite, in her usual charming way, had landed an invitation this year – just as she had the last seven years – and accompanied them. It was something of a relief. Their grandparents clearly hadn't completely adjusted to life without hordes of children underfoot.

Molly, whose effervescent but firm personality had only grown to a nearly maniacal level over the years, was the innate mother, and could do nothing but that. Even as grey crept across her temples and began to streak her fiery mane, she maintained an impossible level of energy around her grandchildren, half heckling, half mothering them at all times, with a pinch of spoiling here and there.

Arthur, on the other hand, was content to tinker with his collection of Muggle items, occasionally with the assistance of Gorman, whose knowledge of their proper use far exceeded his but usually did nothing more than offer the faintest insight into what they _could _do, with the proper magical adjustment.

It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was liveable, and it was the life they'd become accustomed to. He smiled when Darcy crowed with laughter at a gnome's clever use of old flower pots to thwart a frazzled Lachesis' pursuit. Aphrodite was perched on the wall above, casting lazy cascades of flowers around them, draping them across every surface, even as Molly scolded her for disrupting the balance of her garden. Hearing someone at the door, the old witch waved Gaius to it, still instructing her grandchildren and intent on continuing doing so. Rolling his eyes a little, he finished his carrot and moved to the door, opening it to find, much to his surprise, two oh-so familiar Aurors.

And a dragon. Mustn't forget Lorcan. As if in agreement, he yawned and sent a puff of smoke into the Weasley's eyes, gliding past him to chew on an errant piece of silverware. Valeria scolded him in Latin, sweeping past the teen while Creed slunk in after her with an apologetic smile. Closing the door, Gaius asked softly, "Is this about Darcy?" Twin nods, one sure, one barely a nod, more of a twitch. He sighed and sat, digging in his pocket.

"I forgot to give this to Uncle Harry – Sister Moriarty said she found it after the white robes fled." He produced the brass ring and slid it across the worn, scarred wood. Valeria caught it and held it up to the light, lips pursed.

"Mm. Not a metal usually used for jewellery – not even in the more rural areas, they stick to copper and bronze. It's obviously been worn quite a bit...the metal's scratched and foggy, and the image here," she gestured to the crest, "is worn away. Smell anything?" Creed shook her head, the action just as abrupt and sharply terminated as her earlier nod.

"It's been with Gaius too long," she murmured, swallowing, fingers tapping a nervous staccato beat on the back of the chair. "I'm not going to get a scent trail on it. Probably not even a magic one. Might be a cult mark," she commented then, nodding to the worn image. Valeria raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe – it would make sense that it would be so worn, rings are a traditional mark of many organizations, Muggle and Wizarding. If that is what it is, it's probably not enchanted." She slid it into a thin parchment packet pulled from a coat pocket.

"We'll have some friends look into it. How's Ms. McKinney?"

"Gaius? Who was at the door? Come to the garden, dear!" He sighed and stood, beckoning to the two women, who followed closely.

"She's fine," he said, nodding to the garden where Aphrodite was entertaining her with conjured birds of paradise. "No nightmares, no shyness, not even with new people. She only met all of us a few days ago, and she's adapted almost immediately. It's like she doesn't remember." Creed hummed, swallowing nervously.

"She could have repressed the memories," she pointed out quietly, smiling and waving stiffly to Molly, who called a greeting. Gaius frowned.

"Maybe." He shrugged.

"I don't think it really matters." Creed raised a dark eyebrow and whispered, "You have no idea what this could have done to her." He froze now, skin prickling. Valeria was distracted, focused on the gnomes and remaining in the shadows, where the slight burn of sunlight was least likely to plague her; Lorcan was entertaining the youngest members of the group. Shivering, he forced himself to meet Creed's green-gold gaze and mumbled an apology. She just stared at him, giving him the tiniest twitch/nod, eyes flitting across his features as if searching for something. Molly's greeting broke the tense thread, and Creed turned away; Gaius exhaled explosively, flinching some at the volume of the sound. Rubbing his hands over his goosebumps littered arms, he slid back into the kitchen, splaying his hands across the scarred wood of the kitchen table, worn smooth by years of use. Outside, he heard the faintest rumble of thunder in the distance; wind stirred the curtains insistently, the scent of the impending storm suffusing the warm air of the empty kitchen. Shaking his head, he dropped into a chair and rested his forehead against the warmed wood of the table, eyes closing.

* * *

She wasn't sure what woke her; Ron was still asleep, and Joan wasn't standing at the door, looking forlorn and scared. Normally only the nightmares of any of her children could bring her out of sleep so completely. Shivering at the wash of cold air over her bare shoulders, Hermione carefully slid out of the bed, pausing to touch Ron's shoulder and murmur that she'd be right back. They'd taken to always speaking to one another if they woke in the middle of the night, regardless if the other was asleep. It was a source of comfort, knowing the other was there.

Padding across the cool room and slipping into the hallway, the former Gryffindor cocked her head to one side, listening for some sign of what had woken her. Now she could feel it – the subtle apprehension skittering up and down her spine. A few steps up the hall told her every child still slept – no, there was a soft sound of someone shifting their weight in the room Darcy and Joan were sharing. She gently nudged it open, muscles taught with expectation of an attack or intruder, and found only a sleeping Joan and a hunched Creed cradling a trembling Darcy to her chest.

"Creed...?" The werecat straightened some, weary brown eyes meeting worried ones.

"Little one had a nightmare," she offered by way of greeting, looking down at the small girl. Her braids weren't as immaculate as usual – few were even intact, most having unravelled into a curtain of waves over her worn features. Darcy's fingers were curled into the fine strands, moving over them at times reverently and even desperately. Struggling to swallow past a lump in her throat, Hermione carefully joined them on the floor, offering a hand to the werecat. Creed's half-lidded eyes fluttered, before she slowly shifted the eleven year old into Hermione's lap, abruptly rising and ghosting from the room, much to the other witch's consternation. Darcy stared after her for a moment, before burying her face into Hermione's shoulder. Attention caught, Hermione gently stroked the girl's trembling shoulders and murmured, "What is it, Darcy? Do you want to tell me?" The girl flinched and pulled away, chewing her lip ferociously, hazel eyes massive and watery.

"They unzipped me." Hermione blinked.

"What?" Tears sprang up, and the girl shivered, shaking her head frantically.

"They unzipped me and tore my heart out."

* * *

A/N: And here we are. XD Lacuna Coil, Halestorm, and an unfinished HP fic idea spawned that ending, but it seemed wrong to continue after that. I was about to complain about the length, but honestly, isn't almost 3k words a nice average length? I think so.

So that's that. We aren't heading back to Hogwarts just yet; first we have to dance through the minefield of social intricacies with Lady Agatha and meet Darcy's aunt. Be afraid. XD Drop me a line via that pretty blue button - how am I doing?

BUT BEFORE I GO! I have a couple of ideas that want to be written. What would you prefer to see?

a. A character piece on Sirius based in the 'verse of By Chance Checkmate (oneshot)

b. A sentient Hogwarts fic

c. A sci-fi/fantasy distopian AU where Voldemort wins and then is betrayed, leaving the Wizarding World in the hands of the purebloods who supported him and forever transforming the society as Harry knew it, to the point that he becomes a war criminal and is wanted by just about everyone in the freaking world

Just to be clear - I fully intend on working on all of these at SOME POINT IN THE FUTURE (far away though it may be), along with a less defined piece that is shaping up to be scary as all fuck. I just want to know what people want to see soonest. I'm here for you readers! Feel free to PM or email me (mirroredinkparadox yahoo . com) with suggestions or requests. I'll try to fill them to the best of my ability.

Always trying to entertain, Roc out.

P.S. No, Z, you don't count, unless you plan on trading me for that Slytherdor fic I want. :D XD


	5. Unwarranted Objections

Quickie note: I will be writing Troy's last name as del Toro as opposed to Del Toro – mostly an aesthetic thing, since I don't think there's any difference in _meaning_, but eh.

* * *

Blaise held the kitchen door open and watched the delivery men file in, carrying boxes laden with fresh ingredients, Luna directing them from within to various stations. Satisfied by their efficiency and the bustle of work beginning around him, he re-entered the restaurant, eyes scanning the nearly empty dining room to where Harry, Draco, and Troy lingered near the stairs leading up to the new upper dining rooms. Each was small, intimate, and featured a massive glass wall overlooking the city, lit from within to highlight various features of note. Troy had booked one the day before, nearly hysterical, citing an abrupt event without any elaboration beyond, "Elliot is going to _kill_ me..." over and over again.

Upon their arrival, Troy had flitted around the booked dining room for nearly half an hour, while Draco explained caustically the event that had her so piqued.

Joining them, he asked, "When, exactly, does this Lady Agatha plan to arrive?" Troy swallowed and glanced at the delicate gold watch at her wrist.

"In fifteen minutes, tops. I thought you were open for breakfast." Eyeing the woman's nervous shifting of her weight from one foot to the other, he replied, "Every other day and on Saturdays, opening for lunch on Sundays. Is Elliot accompanying his mother?" Troy blanched; Draco scowled and Harry rolled his eyes.

"No," Draco drawled, "he is not, because apparently Troy invited her without his knowledge. He has no idea she's even met his mother at this point." Shaking his head, he turned completely away from them and began fussing with Harry's collar, ignoring the man's heavy sigh and Troy's nervous titter.

Both men were dressed fairly casually, though where Harry had eschewed a jacket and had his sleeves rolled up just above the elbow, Draco wore both the jacket and properly cuffed sleeves – Harry in black on black, Draco in dark grey with silver and white accents.

Troy wore similarly masculine attire; a soft blue silk shirt with puffed sleeves, embossed black leather vest, matching gloves, and dark grey pants, all with subtle gold accents. She kept shifting nervously, unbuttoning and buttoning her cuffs and muttering a little, even tugging at her collar until it lay haphazardly.

"Troy, calm down," Harry insisted, freeing himself from Draco and repeating their interaction with Troy, fixing her collar and gently swatting her hands away from her cuffs.

"It's going to be fine." Draco hummed and nodded, offering a small smile. Troy returned it weakly, one hand going to her hair, cut short again in the early hours of the day. It now hung in a sharp bob at her jaw, swaying a little with every little motion she made.

Clearing his throat, Blaise said, "I took the liberty of creating a special menu for you and your guest, as well as the original menu. Try not to panic over this too much, Luna and I can only deal with so much of your neurosis." Troy glared while Harry snickered, sobering some when he caught sight of an uneasy looking Samson in the window. Gently, he nudged Troy; she twisted and caught sight of Elliot's regal mother approaching past the line of people waiting for the doors to be unlocked, bypassing them to where Blaise and Luna now waited. Swallowing, she straightened and fixed a welcoming smile on her face as Blaise ushered her in, his wife greeting her brightly and leading her to where the three waited.

* * *

Lady Agatha eyed the three young men and woman impassively, taking in the more casual stance and attire of the brunette in comparison with the blonde, noting their stances in relation to one another, before turning all her attention to the Lady del Toro. The appearance was less feminine than before, a little more traditional. She sensed she was trying to impress her, and while she was prepared to be sceptical, she couldn't help but give her some leeway in her mind.

Finally, she offered a stiff smile, moving to join them.

"Lady del Toro." Immediately Troy responded as expected, with a soft, "Lady Grayson-McNamara," and the traditional greeting, before turning to her companions.

"May I introduce Auror Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy?" She inclined her head at the bows she received, one eyebrow arching some.

"Hmm. I recall your work two years ago on the Nis Scarta case – and even before that, the legendary rivalry you both shared in your school years. It is interesting to see you here today, together." Harry smiled blandly, but she didn't miss the mischievous sparkle in his eyes and silently made note to keep an eye on him. Draco was more subtle in his amusement, with a matching bland smile, but he too seemed to share in his mirth.

The owners reappeared, having opened the doors and left seating to a group of their employees, apparently intent on leading them to their own seats.

"Troy booked one of our newer, small dining rooms on the top floor," Blaise explained, leading them up the spiralling staircase through the simple arch, toward the final room on the floor, opening the door and ushering them in. Taking in the sight of the massive glass wall, the simple, low table, and the rounded half booths, Lady Agatha hummed and moved to sit, Troy, Harry, and Draco following.

There was quiet as the menus were offered, customary listing of specials made, and the owners made their quiet retreat. That quiet stayed as they perused the menus, until Lady Agatha finally asked, "What exactly was your intention, del Toro, in inviting me to dine with you today?" She savoured the dumbstruck expression on the American woman's face, and was pleasantly surprised when she quickly recovered, managing, "Ah, my intention is simply to get to know you." Her brow furrowed.

"I wasn't expecting you to ask." Lips tipping up into a smile, the Grayson-McNamara matriarch raised her glass, with a soft, "To the unexpected." Her toast was met with laughter and raised glasses of their own. The line was drawn. Now they waited to see who would cross it.

* * *

The Weasley clan, accompanied by Darcy, convened at the Malfoy Manor even as the lunch in London began to draw to an end. Elliot was pacing the circumference of the gazebo they all sat in, while the children ran around the garden – or rather, the youngest ran, the elders watching and following at a more sedate pace. Joan and Darcy were teasing Gorman, who was acting more like he had two years prior, the three forming a whirlwind of hyperactivity that belied Darcy's agitation. Aphrodite and Gaius wandered after them, holding a conversation between themselves, while the twins occasionally joined the fray, usually ducking out to argue about something either one of them had read earlier.

"Elliot, sit down." The Lord Grayson stopped his pacing to stare at Narcissa, shake his head, and begin pacing again. Ron sighed, ordering his knight forward before saying, "They'll be here. I don't understand why you're all tied in knots, you haven't been worried about seeing Troy for days." Immediately Elliot stopped, flinging up his arms and snapping, "This is different! Blaise said she's having lunch with my _mother_! Why wouldn't she have told me?" The redhead bit his lip even as Elliot whirled, returning to pacing without waiting for a reply. Lucius, surveying the chess board, asked, "Why do you assume she had to tell you? You certainly weren't forthcoming with the information that your mother was even here. She probably took pity on the poor woman." Elliot scoffed bitterly.

"You clearly have never met my mother if you can classify her as poor in any fashion," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Hermione watched him with concern, sharing a look with Narcissa.

"Are you angry?" He stopped again.

"I-" He swallowed and looked down.

"I want to say I'm not, but she had no right." Malachai frowned.

"Elliot-"

"She's my _mother_! I might not have been candid about my relationship with her, but I never implied it would be in any acceptable for her to go behind my back with her!" Hermione shifted uneasily.

"Elliot, please! I'm sure that wasn't Troy's intention-"

"Uncle Harry!" All eyes turned to where a house elf was leading three newcomers to the garden, Harry being almost bowled over by an excited Joan and Gorman, while Darcy hung back by Gaius, suddenly reserved. Troy ruffled Gorman's hair with an exclamation to his height, receiving hugs of her own even as the elder Weasley children moved to join them. Draco greeted them with more reservation, moving to join the adults, apparently sensing Elliot's anger even as he did.

"Elliot-"

"Why the hell did I hear from _Blaise_ that you were having lunch with my mother?" Draco paused on the gazebo steps, seeming to measure the other man's anger.

"We only learned about it late last night," he began slowly, "and we weren't expecting it to be anything but a casual occasion. Troy went to your manor looking for you and found Lady Agatha. She invited her to lunch out of courtesy, nothing more." His silver eyes darkened some with his own irritation.

"It isn't as if you _told _her why you didn't want her seeing your mother." Now Elliot bristled defensively. Malachai rose, cutting off a confrontation by moving between them, speaking softly.

"This is not the time. There are other matters of more severe importance, and, forgive me Elliot, this is a petty concern easily fixed by simple communication. Draco, it is not your concern. This is between Rhiannon and Elliot." Draco's eyes narrowed, but he seemed to concede to the older man's point, stepping back and looking away, greeting the approaching twins genially. Both girls seemed to sense the tension in the air, quiet and reserved between the two of them, an oddity in any Weasley child. Harry and Troy soon joined them, flanked by the youngest Weasleys, while Aphrodite and Gaius took seats on the gazebo swing, Darcy opting to sit beside Hermione. Narcissa fixed them all with a steady gaze and smiled thinly.

"Well. I suppose the time for relaxing is over."

* * *

Creed and Valeria had located Darcy's aunt, and now Gaius, Hermione, Harry, and Draco were waiting in a dank apartment complex, Darcy sandwiched between the two Weasleys, clutching their hands tightly, while Draco eyed the sagging ceiling with a barely contained sneer, Harry beside him, every muscle tensed with unease. Creed and Valeria had offered to meet them there, confirming that the aunt had agreed to meet them there.

"Said she planned on meeting a friend, and would lead you to their home afterwards," mumbled Creed, eyes darting around them as she wetted her lips uneasily. Now and then she catch her low lip between her teeth, worrying it until Valeria cleared her throat pointedly or elbowed her if the former action didn't work. Hermione glanced down at the silent eleven year old.

"Darcy, do you know who your aunt is visiting?" Instantly a flurry of corkscrew curls sprayed across the girl's face as she shook her head emphatically, clutching all the tighter at her hand. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fingering the wand holster around his wrist.

"I don't like this." Creed mumbled something inaudible and nodded; Valeria simply hummed low in her throat, eyes narrowed. Swallowing hard, Gaius asked, "When did she say she'd meet us?"

"After three – didn't say how much longer after, maybe fifteen minutes tops," Creed responded mechanically, fingers twitching as if pressing keys of an instrument. Valeria's expression took on a concerned tone as she looked at her partner, finally saying, "Creed, check our perimeter and see if this is the right place. Take Lorcan and do alternating passes." The dragon crooned and flew from the hall; Creed followed almost hesitantly. The moment she disappeared from sight, Valeria murmured, "This isn't right. Whoever this aunt is, I don't think she's going to show. We'll have Darcy show us where she lives. I need to focus on Creed. Something's wrong. She should have bounced back from Carmichael by now." Draco and Harry shared a look, then looked to Gaius and Hermione; seeming to recognise the silent question, Hermione moved to crouch in front of Darcy, who met her eyes apprehensively.

"Darcy, sweetheart, where do you live?" With the same steady recitation Gaius had received when asking for her name, Darcy offered her address. Harry cleared his throat and said, "I'll handle this, Val. You take Creed back to HQ, we'll talk with her aunt. Tell Mallory what happened."

Draco could hear the impatience in his boyfriend's voice; concerned, he gently caught his hand and squeezed it lightly, asking softly, "Should we really leave her with this aunt? We can't find any records of a Lucille Rebecca or Rebecca Lucille McKinney – we don't even know if that's her maiden or married name, and that's all Darcy can remember of this errant mother. We cross-referenced that with Sarah, but we have no last name for her either, and no Sarah McKinneys Darcy recognised from the photos we have. The father is unknown. This doesn't bode well." Harry just sighed and shook his head, leading them all from the apartment building.

"As far as the Ministry is concerned, I'm Darcy's guardian until we can find this woman. The school year starts in a mere week – time enough for us to at least _try _to locate next of kin." But Draco's point clearly wasn't sitting well with him.

"Hermione, maybe you and Gaius should take Darcy home." His friend blinked, brow furrowing.

"Harry, what about her aunt?"

"We don't actually need her there. We have her photo, and her name. I think it would be best if you went back. I'm not getting a good feeling from all this." She seemed ready to argue, but Gaius touched her shoulder, looking down at Darcy. Whatever she saw there convinced her, and she sighed, nodding.

"Fine. We'll head home – but you have to update us immediately after!" He nodded; she sighed again, pulling Darcy and Gaius a little ways away, before Side-Apparating back to the Burrow. Sharing a look with Draco, he Apparated to the address Darcy had given, skin prickling with ever increasing unease.

* * *

A small neighbourhood. Small, quaint houses, tiny yards, little gardens off the sides and fronts. There was so little here – nothing to really tell each heart apart, save for the rare gnome, occasional statue or fountain, or welcome mat.

The house in front of them – at the address Darcy had given them – was dark. Lacking in any of the scant personalizations of the other houses, the only thing that told them they were in the right place was the polished brass numbers nailed to the right of the door frame. Draco cast a glance around them.

"Neighbours tending gardens, children playing in the yards, lights on in every other house. This place looks abandoned by comparison." Harry eased up the walk, pausing to run his fingers across the window sill.

"Dirt and dust. Not tended at all, if ever before." He looked down at the lazy rock garden in the place of the yard. Weeds poked up here and there, and none of the shrubs seemed to have been trimmed in days. Draco followed his gaze.

"Like I said; abandoned by comparison." Nodding, Harry knocked, fishing out his Auror badge and hooking it to his belt, again fingering his wand holster nervously. A chance glance into the window stopped him.

"Draco?" The blonde moved to his side.

"What?"

"Do you see something through this window?" Confused, Draco looked as he asked. Through the filmy curtains, he could make out the silhouette of a table and a single chair, and a flickering light.

A candle?

"Excuse me?" Only years of having his clients at Depravia attempt to sneak up on him kept him from jumping. He imagined his boyfriend's training similarly allowed him to refrain from an embarrassing response. Both wizards turned to face a petite woman hugging her cloak around her body, frowning.

"Can I help you?" Harry fingered the badge at his waist, asking, "Does a Darcy McKinney live here?" The woman's blue eyes widened, and her lips parted.

"Have you found Darcy?" Draco raised an eyebrow, and she stuttered, "I'm her aunt! Sarah Haghn. Darcy is – was – my sister's daughter. Becca died in an accident a few weeks after she was born. We never met her father." She hastened to the door, opening it quickly.

"Please, come in!" They followed slowly, Draco letting Harry take the lead as he was wont.

* * *

"Darcy disappeared a few days ago," Sarah explained, hanging her cloak by the door. "I left her here with my twin, Anabelle, and our mother, so I could visit a lawyer in London about Darcy's tuition. Becca left her some money, but someone claiming to have been her husband was trying to keep it from her. He wouldn't give us his name or let us meet him, so we were sceptical, but he had a legal claim, according to the bank."

"When I got home, Anabelle said they'd lost her in the park. She told me she'd reported it – I checked, and they said they hadn't received any reports of a missing child fitting Darcy's description, but Aurors are so busy, I just assumed it hadn't come through yet..." She paused and frowned.

"Where is Darcy?" Harry moved to stand beside the window, folding his arms across his chest.

"The Ministry put Darcy in my care until we could locate you, Ms. Haghn. She's with another Ministry officials family right now." She eyed him warily, nodding slowly. Draco imagined she only trusted him _because _he was Harry Potter, but didn't say anything. Unfortunately, his silence didn't keep him from her scrutiny; soon she faced him, raking her eyes over him once and saying slowly, "No badge?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not an Auror. Harry and I live together." Instantly her form stiffened, and she dropped her eyes, shifting her weight nervously.

"Oh." He felt his eyebrow raise higher, meeting Harry's eyes; he read the same scepticism there as he was feeling. Harry cleared his throat.

"Ms. Haghn, I'm going to have to ask you to accompany us to the Auror offices so my colleagues working on Darcy's case can file a report while we go get Darcy." Pausing, he cast a glance around the kitchen, and continued, "I'm going to need your sister and mother's addresses, and to perform a cursory search of your home before we go." Now she frowned.

"I honestly don't think that's necessary-"

"It's standard procedure." Lips drawing thin, she replied shortly, "Unless I see a warrant, I really can't allow you to search." Now the unease shot back down his spine – he sensed Harry's surprise and anger, and hastened to say, "Ms. Haghn, this really is just standard procedure-"

"I want to see Darcy," she cut him off, voice getting louder. Harry straightened and unfolded his arms.

"I'm not allowed to release Darcy into your care until proper paperwork has been filed." She huffed and snapped, "I'm not answering any more questions until I see Darcy!"

Sensing she wouldn't budge on this, Harry shook his head and began to move toward the door.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but as I said, I cannot release Darcy into your care or allow you to see her until all procedures have been carried out. Have a good night, ma'am." Draco moved to follow him, moving past him to leave even as the woman shrieked something after him, cut off by the door slamming behind them. Clearing his throat, he followed him into the road, asking, "Well. Now what?" Harry shook his head.

"We talk to Mallory and the others. You go back to the Burrow and tell Hermione and the other what happened. I'll talk to Creed, Valeria, and Mallory."

* * *

A/N: I freaking forgot how to spell Lucius. OO rejected it, demanding I spell it Lucias, which made me even _more _confused. I had to check a previous chapter. XD And then I managed to forget Malachai's name was Malachai and started calling him Machiavelli. Dammit. And _then _I started characterizing Troy like Philippa! (From Rain of Ash, if this is your first AP fic. XD) My gods. Someone needs to remind me not to write fanfiction while watching Project Runway. It skews my brain. Also, forgive me if the page break thingies aren't there - I might have to start inserting my own little section break thingies. Geh.

Noooow. How do you feel about Sarah Haghn? Don't ask me how that's pronounced, I made it up on the fly. XD We'll be heading to Hogwarts next chapter, after Harry and Draco brief everyone, and maybe we'll have a confrontation between good old Elliot and Mother dearest. XDXDXD But seriously. I will get to the second half of the mystery soon – it's related to Darcy, but Darcy's only a teensy part of the big picture. A _really _teensy part. R&R? Roc out.

**Edit 7.23.12: Basic edits; dropped a few words, fixed a few typos, yada yada yada.**


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